Tide
by Kaz1167
Summary: Makoto tastes like summer and it is just as Haru expected, just as he hoped.


I'm in love with a piece of art by j-witless, which you can find on tumblr by using their url (j-witless) and this information: /post/94940898657/night-swimming-is-good-for-your-health. I'm so in love with it that I attempted to write something inspired by it. I f I've captured 1/100th of the emotions caused by this stunning piece of art, I'd be satisfied.

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Haru is not inclined to take action, preferring to let his relationships float and flow with the ease of change that sometimes, occasionally, comes.

He has waited for change to come between him and Makoto, waited for waves to crash against him like they do the shore or for the tide to curl at his ankles, tender and gentle against his skin. Instead, the ocean has been still, unnaturally stagnant before him, almost as if it is afraid that Haru will melt away when touched.

It had taken months of stagnation for him to realize he would have to create his own waves, to step into the lip of the salty water before him, to immerse himself in the water's touch and prove he wouldn't disappear in the ebb and flow of change.

They'd gone running, the summer heat soaking their skin with an uncomfortable yet satisfying sweat, proof of just how far they could push each other, how far they could drive one another yet maintain a pace that kept their steps in sync. Relief in the cool stretch of ocean was their reward and Haru had shed his sweat soaked shirt before Makoto could even issue a chiding "Haru-chan" spoken more out of habit than necessity. They swam briefly before Haru had opted to lie upon the shore, just in reach of the water's tendrils.

Haru feels the sand shift under his back when Makoto comes to lie in the sand beside him, the water rushing up to his hips before drifting away again.

"Makoto." His name is just above a whisper, light like the night air around them.

"Yes, Haru?" Makoto turns on his side, a soft sigh escaping his mouth as he props himself up on his arm, alerting Haru to his friend's careful gaze. Haru turns his head, glancing at Makoto's chest, watching the rise and fall of his rib cage and the muscles that ease then pull under the tanned skin he knows too well, a color he had become too familiar with when he'd suddenly found himself drawing his friend's form in the sketchbooks shoved haphazardly under his bed. The warm gaze full of another color he knows too well, a vibrant viridian mixed with soft shades of yellow, sends the need to make waves surging under his skin.

He'd thought of well-chosen words to say in this moment, but they slip away with the sand under him as the tide brushes at his waist and, instead, he moves close, pushes gently on Makoto's shoulder until it meets the ground. Haru sees the panic shift into Makoto's viridian gaze and he places his lips upon Makoto's in a rush before he can second guess his actions.

His lips are soft, so soft, from the chap-stick Haru knows he uses and warm against his own. He wants to linger, to feel the wet heat of his tongue, to see if Makoto tastes like the citrusy sports drink he'd purchased from the vending machine after their run, but he pulls away, hovers above him, and waits for Makoto to open his eyes, hopes for the ebb of change he's initiated to ease its way into their actions.

"Haru…" The green that meets him is warmer than before and questioning, but heavy with want and full of a long stifled, untapped need. Large, warm hands run against his hair, curling tenderly against his scalp, drawing him down to Makoto's lips once again before he can speak. He slides his hand from Makoto's shoulder to his neck, his skin smooth and hot against his palm, before he feels one hand move down from the back of his head and over his shoulder blade before settling against his is side, fingers dragging over the sand-covered skin of his back. He trails his tongue over Makoto's bottom lip, and a low, breathless moan meets Haru's parted mouth.

He tastes like summer, citrusy notes lingering on his lips and tongue. It is just as Haru expected, just as he hoped.

He wants more.

Somehow, just as he always does, Makoto knows.

Makoto slots their bodies together as he rolls Haru onto his back, pressing him into the sand, the cool ground beneath him a blessing, attempting to ease the heat in his skin despite the way it keeps spiking when Makoto trails a hand down his chest and his abs, stilling at the sensitive skin at his waist that would send him into a fit of soft laughter in any other moment. Makoto's thumb brushes the pale skin at the edge of his jammers (_of course_ he'd worn them under his running shorts) and Haru knows that his unintentional, sharp intake of breath against Makoto's mouth encourages him to do it again, slowly rubbing lines up and down his tender skin.

He runs his hand over Makoto's chest, moves to the back muscles he's spent too much time admiring that nearly burn under his touch. He settles one hand against the small of his back, pulling him closer in an action driven by an aching, pulsing, need rushing through his body, before sliding the other to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the damp hair that is just a soft as the smile he feels upon his lips. Makoto breaks their kiss then and pulls himself up, gazing down at him in a careful way that is dripping with love and heat, but cautious.

"I want to keep kissing you." The thumb tracing lines against Haru's skin stops moving, but it doesn't help slow his heart as it pounds heavily in his chest or the licking flames of heat rushing through his body at Makoto's words, his gaze, the press of his body against his own.

"Then kiss me." Haru tries to memorize the flushed pink dusting Makoto's cheeks, the deep green in his eyes, the wet sheen covering his lips when his tongue (the warm, wet tongue that had been against Haru's only moments ago) sweeps over them. He meets Makoto's gaze once more, taken with the gentle way Makoto's hand come to brush against the juncture of his neck and ear, slips into his hair and cradles his head gently.

"I'll never want to _stop_ kissing you." The sweetness of the gesture and his words in the midst of this heat, this rush, bleeds into Makoto's gaze in a way that leaves Haru more breathless than he's felt after any run, any swim meet, even after any of the kisses they've just shared.

"Then don't." The tide rushes past his hips and waist, slips under his head, and the green above him disappears beneath closed eyelids. The anticipation of those soft lips upon his own once more urges him to do the same. They've always been in sync, two bodies in perfect harmony, and he can sense Makoto's mouth above his own, revels in the soft puffs of air that paint his lips, before he tastes citrus once more.


End file.
